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Jan 2015 · 476
Bloody Hands
Courtney Taylor Jan 2015
Our relationship was a heart made of crystal, so fragile, each of us holding our side. Then the lie from under my skin caused my side to slip. There on the ground laid the most precious thing both of us had, shattered into a million tiny shards, like razors. Piece by piece my hands began to fill with blood as I tried to put the masterpiece we had back together. The blood poured from my skin, and so did the one lie that caused all this. Now with scarred and bruised hands the crystal heart is held together, only by the remaining love we have for each other. Although there are still many tiny pieces upon the ground. Piece by piece we'll become closer to what we once had. But, when something is broken, then fixed, it's never the same as it once was.
Jun 2014 · 6.0k
Bones
Courtney Taylor Jun 2014
We are bones. Us as the human race. we are bones covered in flesh. Different flesh, but we're still bones.
We look different, but we're still bones.
We sound different, but we're still bones.
We move different, but we're still bones.
We act different, but we're still bones.
Get it yet?
We are individuals, but underneath, we are bones.
We are the same. Equal.
Each of us are skeletons created by the same God, who personalized us according to His will.
All in all; we are replicated bones.
Jun 2014 · 934
Untitled
Courtney Taylor Jun 2014
Day after day it seems as if I'm running in place. Stuck in this labyrinth. There's no way out. It's a never ending maze with dead ends around each corner. I'm searching in the maze, but for what? Something nonexistent? I pause and start to look deep into my soul for this thing. What do I see? Empty. Dark. Nothing. This thing is not concrete. Joy. It is joy. Happiness. Peace. Serenity.
Jun 2014 · 294
Untitled
Courtney Taylor Jun 2014
I didn't start hanging out with the wrong crowd, I became it.
Jun 2014 · 762
lost at sea
Courtney Taylor Jun 2014
I am the message in a bottle that I, myself cast to sea.
A cry for help echoing off glass walls, only to be heard by myself.
I am the stranded that calls for help among the infinite sea.
Help can only find my lost self when I, the cry for help trapped in a glass bottle is found.
Will my ship hear my calls?

— The End —